


A Warm Winter's Night

by PearlsAndRoses



Series: I never asked for love [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Family Dinners, First Day (Dragon Age), Fluff and Smut, Light Dom/sub, Lingerie, Pillow Talk, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:35:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21837592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PearlsAndRoses/pseuds/PearlsAndRoses
Summary: Several months have passed since the last encounter between Sorcha Lavellan and King Alistair when he invites her to celebrate First Day with him. Sorcha can barely contain her excitement at the thought of spending the night together, but she has to endure dinner first. And, as always on these occasions, there’s that one person who has to make things awkward.
Relationships: Alistair/Female Inquisitor, Alistair/Female Lavellan
Series: I never asked for love [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559443
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

Frowning with concentration, Sorcha braided a strand of hair near her temple and fixed it at the back of her head with a sparkling pin, which was the only piece of jewellery she wore. Simplicity would do just fine. She chuckled when she felt the silky fabric of her dress clinging to her body. True, it was of simple cut and had no embellishments, but the rich, blue fabric wasn’t something a Dalish could afford. Not to mention how impractical it was. Once, Josephine had needed to beg her to wear fancy clothing like this, but this dress had been Sorcha’s choice. It was almost embarrassing to admit how eager she’d been to change her usual skintight trousers and simple tunic for an outfit that screamed she was someone important.

Her hand hovered over the assortment of toiletries someone—Josephine?—had put in her bags. Lip paint, kohl for her eyes, blush varying from deep red to a golden shimmer. Would it be too much? Using the techniques Vivienne had taught her, she applied a dusting of kohl around her eyes and a hint of red paint on her lips. The blush, she put aside. Didn’t want to look like a ceramic doll that would break at the faintest touch. She _wanted_ that touch, had been longing for it for weeks. Her dress twirled at her pirouette and when she stopped to face the dressing mirror, her eyes were shining, her cheeks glowing with excitement. A giggle bubbled up and she twirled again. This would be a wonderful night.

A servant brought her to the dining room, guiding her through long halls decorated with tapestries in rich colours. For a palace, the place felt remarkably cosy. The servant halted before a door made from dark wood, the light of the torches reflecting from its surface. With a slight bow, he opened it and gestured for her to enter. 

Four people rose from their places at the table, but only one had her attention. Her mouth curved in a grin when Alistair’s fell open. She could feel his stare on her skin as she strode forward. Her hips swayed just enough to make the dress hint at her curves and she hoped it would make him remember how his fingers had pressed into her flesh with sweet lust the last time they’d met. From the way his eyes glazed over, she’d succeeded in that. 

The bearded man at his side coughed and Alistair snapped his mouth shut. His chest rose with a deep inhale.

“Right.” Alistair cleared his throat. “Please excuse me, Inquisitor Lavellan, but you do look breathtaking. If I may say so.”

A flutter of excitement filled her stomach. “You may and thank you, Your Majesty. Please do call me Sorcha.”

“That would be my pleasure but only if you’ll call me Alistair.” He followed the steps of this charade with more grace than she’d expected. Or maybe it shouldn’t be a surprise, he’d been king for more than a decade after all. He gestured to the greying man with the beard who’d interrupted before. “This is my uncle and regent, Eamon.” A nod to the other man whose hair showed streaks of brown amongst the grey and the woman with kind eyes at his side. “My other uncle, Teagan, current Arl of Redcliffe, and his wife, Kaitlyn, Arlessa of Redcliffe.”

“Sorcha Lavellan, leader of the Inquisition.” She dipped her head in acknowledgement of their greetings. “I do hope I’m not barging in on a family meeting.”

Alistair chuckled and, after a heartbeat, Eamon smiled at her joke too. “My lady, you are most welcome. I did not expect you would be able to visit us in this time of the year, so the fact that you came all the way from Skyhold to celebrate First Day with us is truly an honour.”

Alistair raised an eyebrow at Eamon. “You’re forgetting the part where you told me not to invite her.”

Eamon remained unfazed, his tone shifting from polite to almost patronising. “Think of the rumours bound to go around if lady Lavellan had rejected the invitation. Whoever you would have visited for the celebration would have known they were the second choice.”

“They technically still are.” Now it was her time to snap her mouth shut. Shit, that was not the kind of thing she was allowed to say in her role as Inquisitor. “Sorry. That wasn’t funny. But really, I don’t want my presence to inconvenience any of you.” She only looked at Alistair, who was looking at her with crinkles of amusement forming around his eyes. He didn’t say a word to help her out like he was repaying her for leaving him speechless before. Very adultlike of him.

“Not at—” Eamon started, but Teagan interrupted, “How about we get seated and start our dinner?”

No formal seating arrangements had been made, but Eamon took place to the left of Alistair with Teagan and Kaitlyn sitting on the opposite side. They left a place for Sorcha face-to-face with Alistair. Candles had been placed in between the plates and their feet touched under the table. It would’ve been romantic if it weren’t for the others. Conversation flowed smooth enough, though, and the stories about Alistair’s adventures as a little boy made her laugh. Several dishes were served, ranging from stuffed pheasant to a salad with herbs she knew and a type of cheese she hadn’t tasted before. There was bread with a crust that crunched with each bite and an inside softer than her pillow and a hearty stew that made her think of home. If she closed her eyes, she could almost hear the fire crackling and the children running around camp.

“Enjoying the food?” Alistair asked. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so happy at eating Fereldan food. Anyone that isn’t Fereldan, that is.”

“I am,” she said. Unable to stop a wistful sigh, she added, “It reminds me of home.” 

“Do you miss it?” His leg brushed against hers. Here she was, celebrating First Day with three people she barely knew while trying to keep whatever it was between her and Alistair a secret. Her family, the ones she’d known her entire life, was miles from here and would be celebrating the holiday by sitting around the fire, singing songs and telling stories. There would be no extravagant dishes, but food couldn’t make up for the feeling of being surrounded by the ones you loved and cared for.

Not trusting her voice, she nodded. Compassion was written in Alistair’s kind eyes, too much compassion, so she looked away. It wasn’t all bad; she’d made friends in the Inquisition with whom she’d celebrated Satinalia, and now she was sitting at the same table as a very handsome man, who happened to be great in bed. Outside of bed too. Her thoughts must have been visible on her face since when she met Alistair’s eyes again, he blushed a deep red. 

Seemingly unaware of the silent exchange, Eamon said, “I believe I haven’t thanked you for stopping the mage-templar war. Of course, many suffered because of that, but my daughter, Rowan, had just shown her,” a moment of hesitation, “powers when it started. With all the tumult, I could not send her to the Circle. It was an uncertain time for both of us and without you, there’s no telling what would have happened.”

“Thank you, but it wasn’t just me. Many others helped.” With a strange, glowing mark on her hand and demons jumping out of rifts, she’d cared little about a shemlen war going on. Survival was all that mattered, caring had trickled in without her noticing. “Does she now live in the Circle?”

“She does, in Kinloch Hold. I’ll be visiting her later this week.” Eamon looked into the distance, a smile breaking through his beard. Another person who wouldn’t spend the holiday with her family. At least Cassandra had made some changes to the Circles since she’d been elected as Divine. 

“Yes, thank you for ending that war. A pity Redcliffe wasn’t spared its results,” Teagan said. He turned towards her with a sneer on his face. “Did you know the mages took over the village, plundered our supplies and cared little for how they left the place?”

She pressed her lips together to a tight line. What did he want her to say to that? War came with sacrifices.

“You asked the templars for help, but Redcliffe wasn’t worth saving?”

“I doubt the Inquisitor could have done much about that, Teagan,” Kaitlyn spoke in a tone that allowed no argument. 

“Oh, look, it’s dessert,” Alistair called all attention to the plate of cheeses and various meats brought in. Dried fruits had been arranged across the platter. “Now, this is the moment where I show off my true knowledge.” He winked at her and she cast him a grateful smile in return. “This here is a typical Orlesian cheese that pairs amazingly with those dried figs. Just try.” 

She took the sliver of cheese he gave her together with half a fig. He waited for her to finish before moving on to the next item, a thinly sliced piece of meats. Despite having eaten more than enough, Sorcha couldn’t help but accept each bit of food he handed her, nor could she stop smiling at his enthusiastic explanations. 

With the others absorbed in some conversation about crops, his eyes no longer left her face and the awkward stroking of their legs suddenly felt sensual. Looking at him beneath her lashes, she sipped her wine, then ran her tongue over her lips to catch the last droplets. He caught her legs between his, tight enough to stop her from moving. A little taste of how he would pin her to the bed later tonight.

* * *

“Oh, Creators.” Sorcha reached down to feel where her dress was stuck on the bush outside the window. Balancing on the windowsill, she unhooked the fabric before slipping down. When she looked up, Alistair was regarding her with one eyebrow raised and a grin on his face.

“Isn’t sneaking around usually done quietly?”

She closed the window. “I thought I’d give you some warning. Wouldn’t want you to think I’m some burglar and knock me down.”

“That would be unfortunate, yes. Though I think you might get to me first. Still carrying that dagger in your boot?”

She raised the dress first to reveal moccasins—dresses could be nice at times, but heels were one thing she couldn’t get used to—then a little higher to show the scabbard strapped to her calf. “Can’t be careful enough.” 

Alistair’s eyes widened a fraction and his voice turned husky. “That’s…” A silence in which he bridged the gap between them. “Incredibly sexy.” 

“Oh.” Heat filled her; a blush warming her cheeks and the throbbing glow of want spreading between her legs. “I mean,” she tiptoed to whisper in his ear and his hands around her waist steadied her, “you know you took a large risk by letting an assassin sneak into your room?”

His stubble scraped against her skin and she shivered. Those rough hairs had felt so good against her thighs on that first night together and his tongue… His tongue. It took all her self-control not to grind her body against his. 

“I know. Are you planning to take advantage of me?”

She bit back a yelp of… Something. Her body was strung taut with the same thrill that had made it hum with lust months ago when she had knelt before him to take him in her mouth. Despite appearances—a broad-shouldered man against a slender elf—she was the one in control and just knowing he would listen to her made her want him even more. Did he know he had this effect on her? And he didn’t even need to be around for her to get this turned on. Totally unfair that a man could make her feel this way. Another flash of heat rushed through her; did he think about _her_ like she thought about him?

Her finger drew a line on his neck and she smiled when she felt how his heart raced. “I most certainly am, but before we get to that, how about you tell me some of your most secret thoughts?”

He stiffened in response—and not just down there. “Liiike”—was he going to joke about it? Maybe he didn’t want this after all—“how you entered the room this evening and all I could think about was how soft your lips would feel against mine?”

A kiss and another. Warm, soft, gentle.

“That’s a start.”

He chuckled against her hair. “All right. How about the way I can see the curve of your breasts through your dress and I wanted to hold them.” Strong hands cupped around breasts, “Make you gasp when your nipples stiffened under my touch.” 

By the Creators, did she gasp at the little shocks he sent through her. “More.”

His bulge pressed against her, his fingers drawing lines of heat over her stomach, her back, her hips. “How I wanted to hold your hips, draw your body against mine?”

“Yes.” Yes yes yes. Her hips bucked against him.

“Or how I wanted to rip your dress off you and take you right then and there?” 

Roles reversed and she forgot to breathe. Smooth silk flowed over her skin when he pulled the dress over her head, her hair falling down to tickle her back. If he wanted to take her, she would gladly spread her legs. Ready, she was so ready for him. 

Instead of doing anything like that, he froze. His mouth was opened like he’d forgotten to close it. She looked down to see what he was staring at and was met by the sight of black lace against her skin. Stockings went up to her thighs, where they were fastened with a ribbon leading to the garter belt around her hips. The black lace of her panties matched the fabric around her breasts, which she couldn’t call a breastband, there was by far not enough fabric for that. 

“Do you like it?” She cocked a hip, though she was fighting the urge to cross her arms before her body. He’d seen her naked, this shouldn’t be any different, but what if he thought it too much? Too much shemlen, not enough her.

“Very much.” He tipped up her chin, his lips brushing hers and leaving her longing for more. “Now what—”

A knock on the door made both of them jolt back. “Alistair, do you have a moment?” The door muffled Eamon’s voice.

Panic crossed Alistair’s face in a reflection of her own. Well, shit, as Varric would say. She shot behind the curtain, while Alistair shoved her dress underneath the sofa. He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it more ruffled than it had been. After casting a look at her hiding spot, he turned to the door and Sorcha shrunk back until the curtain hid her completely.

“Yes?” 

Sorcha didn’t dare look, but she was listening like she would when scouting. Steps came closer, Eamon must be halfway the room now. If he came any closer… She pressed herself against the window, cold glass against her entire backside, the curtain’s heavy fabric touching her front. Alistair’s steps—heavier and determined—moved away from her to meet Eamon.

“Is there some sort of problem?” Alistair asked.

“There might be. Have you spoken to Highever recently?” A slow breath escaped Sorcha at hearing Eamon’s voice grow a tad softer. He’d turned his back to her. Well done, Alistair. While Eamon and Alistair continued talking about Highever and some teyrn named Fergus, Sorcha peaked around the curtain. Indeed, Eamon had his back to her while Alistair was looking right at her. His eyebrows rose at seeing her, but he quickly turned back to Eamon, who didn’t seem to have noticed anything. 

Maybe it was the wine she’d had with dinner that made her overconfident, or maybe it was being in the presence of the man who warmed her like the sun, but she extended one leg so that it was no longer hidden. A tug at the curtain ensured Alistair’s attention. This time, his gaze lingered on her and he stopped mid-sentence.

“Alistair, are you listening?”

“Yes, yes, of course. What else would I be doing?” His eyes flickered between Eamon and her. “I promised I would visit Fergus this—” 

She ran a fingertip over her thigh, along her hips, her stomach, all the while imagining his hands caressing her. For now, the heat burning in his eyes would have to do. Biting her lip, she pulled the lace covering her breast down enough to show a taut nipple. His hands covered the bulge between his legs, his replies to Eamon reduced to nods and hums. The muscles in his shoulders tensed and relaxed like he was an animal waiting to jump her. 

Heat pooled between her legs, the throbbing down there begging her for a touch. Any touch. She might do it herself if this interruption lasted much longer. He might ignore his uncle and come straight for her if she did that. 

He groaned, quickly hiding it by coughing when she sucked on a finger before running it around the exposed nipple.

“Are you feeling well?” Eamon asked.

A blush crept up from Alistair’s neck and turned his cheeks deep pink. “Yes.” She pulled the nipple, her mouth forming a silent “O”. He cleared his throat, the blush deepening. “On second thought.” His voice shot up an octave when she let her other hand slip into her panties. “On second thought I might not be feeling well. At all.”

Eamon stayed silent and she didn’t move. If he turned around… Her heart beat fast, blood rushing through her like it did in a fight. Her finger slid between wet folds, her palm pressing against her clit.

“We will discuss this on the morrow, then,” Eamon said. He left the room without turning and Alistair shut the door behind his uncle. 

Leaning his forehead against the door, he said, “Did you.” Deep breath in. “Did you have to torture me like that?” His face returned to its normal colour when he turned around, though his eyes shone a golden hazel with want. Want for her. 

She closed the curtain behind her. They met next to the sofa and he pulled her in for a kiss, but when his tongue pried her lips open, she pulled back.

“Wait a moment.” She put a finger, the one wet from herself, over his lips and his nostrils flared at her smell. “You said you weren’t feeling well. Don’t you need to rest?” 

His fingers pressed into her buttocks, keeping their hips locked together. His tongue darted out to curl around her finger, licking her wetness from it. When she pulled it away, he spoke, emphasising each word, “You are a terrible person, you know that?”

“I can but try my best, Your Majesty.” Her chuckle turned to a yelp when he pushed her down on the sofa without warning. He was warm and heavy on top of her, his hands moving to get rid of all the lace. A ribbon snapped loose as did some of the buttons of his shirt. Stockings gone, pants gone. Naked bodies pressed together.

The armrest poked in her back, but she didn’t mind. He bit her neck when he entered her and she let her head fall back, relishing the feeling of him stretching her. After an evening of seeing, but barely touching each other, neither wanted to take it slow. Glowing, burning, blazing lust now coursed through them, the only thing that mattered was sweet relief. More and more, until she couldn’t tell where she ended and Alistair began, their bodies moving together seamlessly. 

“You’re wet,” he breathed into her ear, his rhythm never faltering. In, out, in, out. Obscenely wet sounds accompanied each movement. Hard to deny what he did to her.

“Yes, yes, oh, please.” Her nails dug into his back. She tilted her hips to make his body rub against her clit. So close. “Alistair,” she begged, holding his head to make him look at her.

“Come for me.”

Eyes locked, she let him see her all when her climax hit. Her back arched and she didn’t even try to stifle the cry coming from her mouth. For him. Wave upon wave of pleasure pulsed through her, faster than he could thrust. 

Some emotion flashed over Alistair’s face faster than she could recognise before he pressed his mouth against hers. She drank in his groan as he came, her muscles contracting around him to draw out a few more quivering thrusts until he relaxed against her.

“Oh, sweet Maker,” he muttered in the crook of her neck.

“Praying for forgiveness, are you?” she said, voice breathless. 

His chuckle rumbled against her chest. “Not at all. I’m saying my thanks for this blessing.” He pushed himself up, his lips turning into a lazy smile. “And perhaps I’m praying for more, if I may ask?”

She traced the line of his nose, his weight comforting on top of her. “Does that mean I can stay the night?”

“I’d like that.” He tilted his head to kiss the palm of her hand and a satisfied sigh escaped her. 

A long night lay ahead and tonight, she didn’t fear the cold it might bring. Tonight, she had her own sun to warm her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their, ehm, exertions, Sorcha and Alistair end up in his bed. A very kingly bed, which is an excellent place for some pillow talk. This obviously doesn't mean there are any feelings involved. Nope, not at all.

Her warm breath tickled his skin, a leg draped over him while she traced patterns on his chest. If he’d been a true hero, like the ones in the stories, his manly chest hair would have been mentioned, but alas, there wasn’t much there to talk about. More proof that he wasn’t the hero some people thought he was.

Alistair’s hand trailed Sorcha’s collarbone, moving to her slender waist, the curve of her hip, and she snuggled closer. If he trailed his finger over her just like this… A low hum came from deep inside her, sinking into him. He’d always thought of himself as more of a dog-person, but her cat-like purring felt nice. Comforting somehow.

She raised her head to face him. “I do hope I wasn’t too loud.” A smirk played around lips he wanted to kiss until she was moaning and pleading for more.

“You don’t have to worry about that, the walls of these rooms were enchanted to not let any sound escape. Comes in handy with guests.” 

Her hand stopping making patterns and her chest no longer rose and fell against his side. Sorcha’s voice was neutral, the kind of neutral that crawled over your skin. “Do you often entertain such guests?” 

_Fool_ , he cursed himself. He’d sounded like he had women come over every other day. Some kings might, but he wasn’t like that. Had promised himself to never become like that, become like Cailan. Like Maric. At least the changes of him fathering a bastard were extremely low. He supposed he should be thanking the Taint for that.

“I don’t. Not that kind of guests. Not often, never here.” The few times he’d lain with a woman since Anna-Lise, it had been quick, in taverns far from Denerim. None of the women had known who he was. Or perhaps they’d known him better than those who called him King. Wasn’t a high standard, that. “Only guests that come in here are the ones that want to discuss politics. They’re about as entertaining as reciting the Chant during templar training.”

“I see.” She put her head back in the dip between his shoulder and chest. She didn’t laugh at his joke, however. Didn’t even smile.

“Haven’t had any of those other encounters since meeting you.” Saying that was important for reasons he didn’t want to think about too much.

Her fingers filled the silence with caresses. “You don’t much like politics, do you?”

“And here I thought I was doing a fine job of hiding that.”

This time, she did chuckle. “You just told me your deepest, darkest secrets, don’t you remember?” Without giving him time to respond, she continued, “But I wanted to ask, if it would be your choice, what would you want to do? Who would you want to be?”

His choice. Had he ever had a real choice? When Duncan came to to recruit for the Wardens, he’d thought that joining had been his choice, but looking back, it had been Duncan who’d saved him from that dreaded place. If Duncan hadn’t wanted him, he’d still be there and if _he_ hadn’t wanted to join the Wardens, Duncan would have taken him anyway. Life was pulling him along and he could just hear it laughing at his futile attempts to take matters into his own hands. 

“You mean except from travelling to Orlais to sample all their cheeses?” he said. Easier to come up with jokes than to imagine the emptiness that came with being free to do whatever.

She nudged him with her chin. 

“Fine.” He sighed. “I’d stay. Ferelden is my duty now and I can’t leave it without thinking about the consequences. I wish I could, but I can’t. Simple as that.” He pushed aside the voice asking him what he’d do if he would never have been king in the first place. Or if there would’ve been someone to take over. Someone better suited for the job. A king had no use for selfish thoughts like that. “What about you? Planning to stay in your castle in the mountains forever?”

There was no hesitation when she answered, “No. _When_ the work of the Inquisition is done, I plan to find a clan that will,” she faltered for a fraction of a heartbeat, “accept me like this.” Without her vallaslin? He didn’t ask, the question too personal still. Maybe one day. “I want to travel again, sleep under the stars, cook my own dinner above the fire. Explore different places.” 

Freedom. The word hung in the air between them, unspoken, but he could feel it in the way her body pressed against him. Nothing more than a wish—one that might or might not be fulfilled. For now, they’d have to make do with the bits and pieces scattered along their path.

Gently, he pushed her on her back and lowered himself on top of her, taking care to support his weight on his forearms. Her mouth tasted… Not sweet, that would be a lie. It tasted of the herbs she used to clean her teeth, fresh and clean. A stark contrast with the messy taste of sex lingering on his tongue from earlier that night, but he savoured both; he wanted all of her. A soft bite on her lip followed by a line of kisses along the soft skin of her jaw, all the way to her ear. Would she like it if he...? A moan, her hips bucking into him. Yes, she did. Guided by her whimpering, his tongue ran over the sharp line of her ear. 

Slower than they’d ever done, they explored each other, learning every sensitive spot, the meaning of each gasp, until finally their hips rocked together. When he came, it was her name on his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, I had planned for a fic with lots of angst to be in this place, but the upcoming holidays deserve some fluff. Angst will have to wait until the new year (update planned for 5 January). Thanks for reading and I hope you have lovely holidays <3


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